


Blue, brighten up my sky

by orphan_account



Series: Scaled up [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Fusion, Gen, Pacific Rim AU, Sort of RPF, Sort of SPG Lore, steam powered jaegers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:17:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only the outer shell remains, the brass plating corroded by acid and the deep blue glass of the visor fragmented.<br/>(Minor edits made - nothing major)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue, brighten up my sky

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Very Big Steam Powered Jaegers What Smote](https://archiveofourown.org/works/884530) by [raven_aorla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/raven_aorla/pseuds/raven_aorla). 



> This fic inspired by - and hopefully operating within - the crossover verse created by Raven_Aorla, who has graciously granted me permission to mess around with her things.

Out back, behind the base, there's a hollowed-out carcass. Not of meat and bone and congealed kaiju blue, but an empty jaeger; half torn apart by fangs and claws, and what remained long-ago stripped away for repairs and rebuilding. Only the outer shell remains, the brass plating corroded by acid and the deep blue glass of the visor fragmented.

Nobody really talks about it, though it's not so much that it's a _secret_. Or rather, if it _is_ a secret then they did a _very_ poor job of concealing it. After all, there's a massive jaeger left out in what amounts to their back yard - subtle, it is not. The whole thing feels to Matt more like it's the kind of thing that doesn't get brought up. It's not that it's best forgotten, more that it doesn't need to be spoken of to be remembered.

Or, you know, something like that. It's hard to tell when nobody explains anything in this madhouse (up to and including how to work the dratted toaster properly).

The old machine didn't look quite as imposing as the functioning ones did. For one thing it was smaller, inasmuch as Matt could tell from what was left (the torso, part of the head, the left arm, and not much else). For another, as it sprawled on the grass plants had sprung up around it. It made for an odd sight: a massive metal man being slowly taken over by weeds, flowers, and moss. The parts still coated in the residue that kaiju-blue left as it dried remained bare, the translucent cyan coating killing any plant life that ventured near. On those bare patches he can see what remains of grooves carved into the metal plating. They form intricate designs, with no purpose beyond covering the mechanical man with more than plain metal sheeting.. 

An odd sight indeed, and rather beautiful for it. He finds it sort of peaceful, actually, and so on the days that he finds it too cramped and stressful in the base he tends to end up out here. He'll sit with a book or his lunch, leaning back against one of the parts of the jaeger which aren't likely to poison him through his t-shirt, trying to pretend that the sound and smell of the sea relax him the way it used to. Not much is the same as it used to be when he was a kid, Matt reflects. Monsters, aliens, robots... even the salt air has a taint to it that speaks of poison, pollution, and a blue so bright that it burns.

About a month after his arrival, Michael finds him out here. It's cold, and the ground is damp, but Michael sees the expression on his friend's face and sits down beside him instead of insisting that he come indoors. They sit there for a while, letting the quiet ebb and flow around and through them. Eventually, after an indeterminate period of time, Michael speaks.

"He was called Three," he informs Matt. It takes a second for the younger man to make the connection between what he's saying and the rusting behemoth behind him. "We kept trying to give him a name at first, but nothing ever stuck." He grins. "It became a sort of contest to find the most stupid one. I think 'Bobby Darren' was up there, and 'Little Jon'... In the end we just went with his temporary designation." 

Here he pauses. "I... you remember Jon, right? I mean," he taps his temple, "You've seen him in the drift?"

Matt nods, a tiny smile tugging at his lip for a moment. "Yeah, I remember," he replies. There's an awful lot about Jon in there, actually. The cheerful man with wild golden hair and a smile in his eyes... he and Michael were close, he knows. He can feel how much he misses him, though he's so happy to have Matt himself here too, which is fairly breathtaking. It's one thing to know that somebody likes you, but quite another to feel the warmth you bring to their chest just by being around them.

Whenever they drift, something of Jon Sprague will whip past - him sitting on Steve's shoulders and laughing like hell when Negrete drops him; dancing and twirling with Sprague to an old song that just came on the radio; wandering out of his  room  to find the other man in top hat, bow-tie, a black dress shirt and bright red suspenders, riding an honest-to-gods unicycle; coming outside to see him singing a nonsense song to a stray cat he'd found while feeding it pieces of his rations; watching him paint something (Neither Michael nor Matt have any idea what) beautiful, in shades of blue that are terrifying to anybody who's ever gotten near a kaiju, but seem somehow peaceful when daubed onto a canvas.

Or older memories, tinged with fond remembrance as well as the melancholy that seems to haunt everybody's recollections of life before the Breach appeared. The two boys fighting, exploring, getting bored in class, passing notes to one another, splashing seawater at one another and diving for shells... nobody goes in the sea any more. Not unless they have a death wish.

The rest he's seen is... fragmented. All the memories that aren't things that happened, but are still remembered. The shade of blue his eyes were; the hugs he gave, the bright, open grin that he bestowed so freely; his favourite colour (green), and food (ice-cream, a luxury that they haven't had for years). All the little things that the mind stores away for future reference.

Michael grins back at him. "Nobody was ever totally sure how this one worked," he told him. "Not even Peter, and he _built_ him. He and Steve used to go over the blueprints for hours, trying to get them to make sense, but they never quite did." He pats the metal plating behind him. "Jon used to say that Three was powered by love, that that was what kept him going against all reason." He shrugs. "Makes as much sense to me all the reasons Steve and Peter came up with."

Matt hesitates. "You guys don't talk about it," he says. "Everything else under the sun, but you don't mention Three. Or Jon, often." It's a statement, arguably, but the question within it is clear.

Michael sobers, a hand tugging at the frayed edge of his sleeve as he thinks. "Bad memories, I suppose," He admits. "Nobody really wants to bring things up that ended as badly as what happened with Jon did." He swallows, picking at the worn fabric and looking at the ground instead of Matt. "It wasn't pretty. You remember...?"

And he does, though he tries not to think about it. The one time that Michael got lost in his own head and Matt had to drag him out by his coattails? Bit hard to forget, to be frank. The version in his own head isn't anywhere near as vivid as the one in Reed's - after all, it's literally a memory of a memory - but the experience isn't easily forgotten.

Jon - usually a lively man - shuddering and choking on his own blood, his half of the control room caved in and torn to pieces. Sharp shards of twisted metal skewering him through over and over, as Michael twists helplessly in the harness... the triumphant roar of a Kaiju blocking out the bubbling gasps and Michael's desperate screams.

He'll perhaps be excused if he tries to forget about that brief glimpse into Michael's personal hell.

He nods once more, swallowing the bile that has risen up a the memory. "I... yeah," he manages. "I remember."

Mike himself looks pale, guilt written clear on his face. "I'm sorry," he tells his friend. "But... you understand why we don't like to think hard about it? Even the others... we weren't sure he'd make it at first. He looked so... so broken. Small." He shudders, then sighs. "I don't know, maybe if he hadn't left to be with his family straight afterwards. If he'd stayed, gotten better, kept moving forward." A shrug. "It's hard to move past it when we never got to see him heal, so we don't bring it up for everybody's sake."

Without really thinking about it, Matt turns and pulls his friend into hug. Michael gladly reciprocates; wrapping his arms around him and letting out a long breath, he relaxes noticeably. They stay like that for a few seconds, before Mike pulls away.

"I... thanks, Matt." He smiles softly. "I needed that more than I realised." There's a momentary pause while he thinks. "It's really not that bad though, I suppose. We get on with our lives as best we can. Three was beyond repair, so Peter built Hatchworth and transferred me over to Spine. Jon Skypes whenever he can, but he's still not completely well yet." He grins. "Plus I'm fairly sure he's busy trying to convince Erin to move in." 

Just like that the strange atmosphere of introspection is gone, and Matt gasps. "No way. Erin Burke? From the band?"

"Uh-huh. Way Jon tells it, soon as he got home she yelled at him for about half an hour for nearly getting himself killed, hung around until he could walk again and, well... one thing led to another. Jon's brothers inform me that they're tooth-rottingly sweet on one another."

"Huh," Matt considers for a moment, then nods. "I can see that happening. Good to know things turned out ok for both of them, actually."

Michael nods, then clambers to his feet and dusts himself off. "Come on, David's decided to try cooking again. I think we could both do with a proper laugh." He pulls Matt up too and gives him a broad smile. "You think Kaiju blue is toxic? Wait until you see David's food. He managed to set a some ramen on fire last time!"

This last is delivered at a run, dragging Matt behind him. Together they go back into the facility, laughing like loons. They leave the brass robot's remains in peace, heading off in search of fun and family.


End file.
